


I Want to tell you but i don't know how

by Lightofonesoul



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is a puppy in love, Sherlock pining for love, Unspoken words, a missin scene, about that wedding, angsty, tie is a simbol of love XD, with violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightofonesoul/pseuds/Lightofonesoul
Summary: Have you ever wonder, what's happening at the 3X02 after John asked at Sherlock to be his Best man? What did they say then?This is my version ^_^"Can a soul be crushed?It’s very illogical but that is what it feels like to him. Sherlock feels like a violin, tensed and tight, scratched by an invisible bow, but without any sound. "





	I Want to tell you but i don't know how

_-This is the[song  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qi34GWOAt9M)_ i _speak about if you want to listen when Sherlock play violin or before it's your choice,_ i _advise to listen to with this story :)_

 _-Special thanks to my beta[ImpossibleElement ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpossibleElement/pseuds/ImpossibleElement)_  she's _amazing!!_

_- if isn't clear, there is a flashback_

 

 

People are boring, he has always known that, but he was no longer used to the silence after two years away from the city, to its pushing sensation. The calm of London exasperates him, because Sherlock loves the shimmering, the haunting, the interesting

cases… and for his remarkable mind, boredom is such a hateful thing. 

In that moment, the tranquility of the evening, of people going their way on the street, disturbs him even more since it brings his mind to a place where he doesn’t want to dwell. It’s like Sherlock is locked inside his own brain, and he is not able to shove

those thoughts into a secure room of his mind palace.

An altar, a bride in a white dress, so many laughs and tears. He stands besides John through it all, but not in the way he wanted. Doing fake smiles. But not faking the tears, those are real.

He looks at his reflection on the window and anger grows within him. ‘Who is that man?’ He asks. ‘Who am I? Just a remnant of myself?’

‘This is the price of feelings.’ Answers the voice inside Sherlock’s mind, it sounds an awful lot like his brother, one more of the many that warned him of every consequence. But Sherlock can’t deny it, not anymore, can’t deny the love and heart-ache he feels being so distant from John.

The curly-haired man hadfoolishly imagined that when he came back, he could have had "something" with John, like a pathetic romantic, tv show —the kind which he always refused to watch— where even after a lot of drama, two characters start to love each

other and get together as a couple.

But it wasn’t like that.

When Sherlock entered that restaurant, he’d known John was there with someone. But even with that knowledge, the moment he looked at him, as his anxiety grew, he thought about what would had happened if they had gone together.

A splinter of a lost occasion now.

He had another type of welcome from the blogger, but at least the man he loves most in the world has forgiven him now.

Sherlock sighs and goes to his violin. He takes it out and places it on his shoulder, all the while his sight goes to the doorway; it’s open, as usual, but yet another thought upsets him. The detective sighs and feels as if his chest were being torn apart by an

invisible wound, because he remembers when and why John had gone to the flat that day.

 

_Their eyes meeting after he is up from the chair, the place where he asked the most difficult thing from Sherlock, but he accepts anyway because John requested._

_Sherlock is his best friend, the blogger had said, and still, those words wandered inside his mind. He was divided between gratitude for that and despair because that is all he is to his Watson._

_«Now I have to go.»  John says while stepping closer to the doorway, but remains still for a couple of seconds and turns to Sherlock once more. The detective feels a knot in is throat at his friend’s serene expression._

_He tries to be happy for him, but he can’t._

_«_ _I’m so curious about what you will do, as a Best Man, i mean.» A smirk appears in his lips, which Sherlock duplicates, because John is so beautiful when he smiles. This is a conversation to stay longer, Sherlock deduces. It’s an unnecessary chat, but the_ _blogger wishes to talk anyway._

_«I don’t know what you mean.»_

_«Oh, you know very well! Just remember this is my wedding.»_

_«Yes, yes, I know. The most important day of your life, just like you said.»_

_The atmosphere becomes completely frozen, as if someone had opened a window and let the draughts of resentments and unspoken sentences in._

_They both look at each other for a couple of minutes, until John clears his throat and fixes his shoes, Sherlock feels his heart scream in an attempt to say what he had stored inside for so long._

_He must say it, this is the last chance he has before the…the wedding._

_«_ _John, I...»  He looks at him and takes a deep breath, but just when he is about to say it, Mrs. Hudson comes into the room._

_«_ _Oh, I’m sorry for bothering, dears; but there’s a client downstairs, he’s quite upset because he said he rang the doorbell so many times, but-»_

_«It’s still in the freezer, Mrs. Hudson.»  Sherlock cut off._

_«Sherlock! For God’s sake.» The landlady sighs and throws her hands up in exasperation, but when she looks at John, she smiles like he can understand._

_‘Probably he does,’ Sherlock thinks._

_«It’s a pleasure to see you here! It’s lovely when you come to see Sherlock. Usually, you make him less irritable.» Sherlock rolls his eyes and John smiles._

_«You think? I haven’t seen any difference.» He responds, and they laugh, while the detective sighs exasperated and irritated at the stupid conversation._

_«_ _Anyway, since you are here, I’ll go tell the client to wait-»_

_«It’s not necessary, Mrs. Hudson. I have to go.»  John cuts her off and looks at Sherlock, and there his eyes stay._

_«Well, he can wait a couple of minutes.» She says before going out of the room, but the boys don’t notice because they are completely concentrated on each other._

_«Sherlock, ehm, what did you want to say?» He whispers, like he doesn’t want to interrupt the moment, and he steps closer._

_The consulting detective clears his throat at the intensity in John’s eyes, and tries to drive away the thought of kissing him. His blogger is going to get married, and this is the only chance to tell him the truth; but suddenly something hits him, some sense of_

_self-awareness. He sees all the consequences his words could have:_

_-most improbably: John breaks up with the only person that gives him stability for Sherlock, who will never give balance to him._

_-worst scenario: John doesn’t want to speak to him again and keeps his distance because he doesn’t feel the same._

_Sherlock stops breathing and looks away. He can feel the tension run through his skin, chills traveling freely in his body._

_«_ _John, I wanted to ask you if… it is necessary that I wear a tie?»  He says with an ironic tone but his heart is breaking into a million pieces of bitterness. John laughs and that gives him the strength to look at him._

_«Seriously?» He asks with a smile._

_«_ _John, you know I don’t like to wear those_ things _if possible. Bowties are so much better.»_

_The doctor shakes his head and steps closer to him, he puts his hand on the collar of Sherlock’s shirt, and the detective feels chills the moment John involuntarily brushes his neck._

_«I’m sorry, Sherlock Holmes. But that day you must wear a tie. I will like you with that.»  Sherlock blinks at those words, and not only for them, but also for how John says them. In a very intimate tone, with his gaze fixed to Sherlock’s neck._

_For a crazy second, Sherlock thinks they are chatting about them getting married, but it’s not, not in reality._

_«And if necessary, it’s a weapon to strangle you. Just in case.» John adds with a smirk._

_«Prosy.» He snorts._

_The blogger giggles and stays where he is, with his hand on Sherlock’s collar; but when the detective looks at him, John takes a step backwards._

_His cheeks go red, his eyes shine and he looks away; a subtle clue of feelings. Could it be possible?_

‘No, no.’ _Sherlock shakes off that absurd idea._

_«Fine, now I really must go.»_

_«I would appreciate it if you stayed.»_

_For a second the atmosphere around them turns intimate again, that even the dust fluttering in the sun-rays stops at this moment._

_He looks at him with an indecipherable expressing, and it upsets Sherlock._

_«I mean, for the case. If you want. » When he says those words, something breaks inside John’s eyes. He nods, but not really convinced._

_«_ _It would be lovely, but I have preparations for the wedding. Mary wants to go to the tailor for the dress.» He smiles, but it’s a fake one. His shoulders are resigned and he hides a snort, telling it’s boring._

' He prefers the case instead of doing those boring things because John wants the excitement, not because he wants to stay with me.'

_«Oh, okay. No problem.»_

_«Well, see you.»_

_Sherlock nods and turns back from him, he doesn’t try to stop him when John goes out, he doesn’t scream his name when he hears the steps on the stairs. He doesn’t say a word when he sees him from the window, stalling at the sidewalk for a moment,_

_before hailing a cab._

_Sherlock doesn’t move and closes his eyes. He feels tears, salty ones full of sadness and guilt for his heartbreak. Because he preferred to hide his feelings instead of speaking._

_He glances at John’s armchair._

He shakes himself, looks at his violin and plays. He has never heard or composed that song before, it just comes out of his fingers like it had always existed.

The sound is dramatic and sad. The song has a minor tone, of lost opportunity, of impossible love that invades him like wipeout into the hurricane. Feelings, that he never thought he would come to feel.

It hurts to play, so Sherlock closes his eyes as the smells, the laughs and the looks he has shared with John are there in front of him. It’s as if they were scenes of a film, so lively that he feels he could touch them, caress them with the notes he plays.

In the tune, there are things never said, kisses that were never given, running into the London streets at night; laughter and arguing.

A sad love poem, expressed with music.

Can a soul be crushed? It’s very illogical but that is what it feels like to him. Sherlock feels like a violin, tensed and tight, scratched by an invisible bow, but without any sound. A fake smile appears on his lips, while a burning tear falls on his cheek as life-like

molten lava.

If the detective could observe the scene from the outside, he would probably laugh; would ridicule himself and his stupid figure so enslaved by feelings.

But Sherlock doesn’t want to laugh.

He allowed someone to get under his skin so deeply to become a vital part of him. A stupid human error that was, in the end, inevitable. John is the sense of everything, proven by how many times he speaks to the doctor, even when he’s not there. Like when

he was captured in Serbia, with lashes and suffering, with only the real thought of John to keep him alive.

And then, when he hits the final note, he does it again, he talks to him like he never would.

«I’m a coward, John. I’m not the hero you believe i am, and i don’t deserve your admiring look, i don’t deserve you, but i want you to know: John, I’m in love with you. Can you hear me? I’m desperately, foolishly in love with you.» He whispers it so many times, he says the words so long, until they are broken by a sob.

Sherlock feels it when he turns around and finds John’s chair, and not his blue eyes maybe happy to be looking at him.

He sighs and places the violin on his armchair. He gets close to John’s; brushes it with his fingers and stays there as he thinks, and desires to vanish into the seat so he could somehow be a part of John like the blogger is of him.

And then there can be only the two of them: always Sherlock and John.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii^_^ thank you for reading!! I often asked to myself what happened in that scene, so i wanted to write my version, a little angst i'm sorry ahah but there is love here   
> I hope you like it ^_^ and if you wish left comment or kudos i really appreciate it :* thanks


End file.
